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"That snake," I seethe through gritted teeth. "I treated her with nothing but respect in my home, and this is how she repays my trust?"
Dante clasps my shoulder reassuringly. "This wasn't your fault, Antonio. She played her part well. But now we know her true loyalties."
I shake my head, unwilling to accept what logic dictates must be true. "There has to be some explanation. She wouldn't just use me like that."
"Whatever you feel for her, it isn't returned." Dante's tone softens with sympathy. "To them, she's a means to an end. A weakness to exploit."
His words land like blows, each one chiseling away at my resolve. Because deep down, I know he's right. I chose this life knowing trust came at too high a price. But I allowed myself to hope, to dream, that somehow Clara was different...
"I need to talk to her." My voice comes out raw, almost pleading. "Hear it from her own lips before I condemn her."
Dante's eyes harden, ever the pragmatic soldier. "Think this through. Confronting her puts us at a disadvantage. Lose the element of surprise."
I ponder his words as I pace the study, each step echoing off the dark paneled walls. He's right - strategically, subterfuge gives us more control of the situation. But the thought of pretending affection while plotting her downfall makes my skin crawl.
"There's more you should know."
I stop short at the edge of my desk, gazing intently at Dante's grave face as he continues.
"We've been monitoring her father, William. Off-book art deals through Ferraro associates, trading their influence to clear his gambling debts."
My mind reels, connecting dots I desperately wish could remain separate. William brokering illegal deals to pay his debts. Clara cavorting with the enemy behind my back. My hands grip the back of my chair, white-knuckled.
"Here's what we have so far." Dante opens a file folder containing photos and documents. Surveillance reports, bank statements, snippets of phone transcripts. A twisting in my gut grows with each damning piece of evidence.
"This is bigger than just the two of them," Dante says grimly. "Could be the whole family working an angle here. Leveraging Clara's access."
I stagger under the weight of betrayal, struggling to reconcile my feelings with duty and logic. I want to deny the evidence before me, but it's thorough and undeniable. Clara using me as a means to their own ends. The painted picture is one of deception, in sharp contrast to the tender dream I clung to so desperately.
For a long moment I simply stare, willing the contents of the folder to rearrange into some exculpating pattern. But the truth glares back, indifferent to what I wish was true. With a snarl of anguish, I sweep the contents off my desk in a maelstrom of scattered paper.
Chest heaving, I brace my palms on the now-bare desktop. "You fool," I spit out bitterly. "One pretty face and you ignored every warning sign."
Dante steps closer, his hand hovering hesitantly over my shoulder before dropping back to his side. "She fooled us all." His tone radiates quiet empathy.
I shake my head fiercely. "I should have known better. I swore to put the family first, above all else."
Straightening, I begin to pace the perimeter of the study, needing to expend my restless energy. Dante stands sentinel near the desk, tracking my movements with concerned eyes.
"What do we do now?" My voice comes out raw, laced with anguish.
Dante exhales heavily, gazing down at the damning evidence still scattered across the dark floor. "Whatever we do, it needs to be decisive. This is about more than just Clara now."
I stop pacing and lean on the bar cart, closing my eyes against a wave of pain. He's right, of course. One wrong step in handling this sensitive situation could upset the precarious détente within the organization. Lead to splintering factions, or worse - open war. I open my eyes and pour another generous glass of whiskey, letting the caramel liquid burn down my throat. The fire in my belly steadies me, but does nothing to thaw the ice around my heart.
I chose this life knowing full well the sacrifices it required - obedience over individuality, logic over love. Yet Clara made me crave things no made man has any right to desire. Mutual trust, that rarest and most precious of all commodities in this world.
I laugh then, the sound hollow and mirthless, echoing around the room. Such fantasies have no place here. My father would scoff to see me brought so low over a woman, like some besotted fool from the novels Clara adores.
No, I chide myself. It wasn't love that steered me astray, merely lust and vanity. An infatuation that clouded my judgment. I simply need to regain control.
Yes. I square my shoulders, grasping at the lifeline of cold logic and duty like a drowning man. Clara poses a threat now, and threats must be handled decisively. For the good of the family. No room for softness or sentimentality.
I finish my whiskey in one burning gulp, feeling its heat spread through my limbs. My hands have steadied, my resolve hardening into a cold, dark gemstone within my core.
Straightening my shirt cuffs with methodical precision, I turn to face Dante. His sharp eyes study me, giving nothing away.
"Call a meeting. My inner circle, midnight at the warehouse." My voice comes out steady, all hesitance scourged away. "There are plans to be made."
